


Thistle Do Nicely

by futsch



Category: HEP AU
Genre: A flower shop AU!, F/M, It's an AU!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 12:19:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7801624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/futsch/pseuds/futsch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I am weak for flower shop AUs. And, knowing me, it got out of control. So expect this to be an ongoing thing where it's mostly relationship drama.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Your Mom Hates Us

**Author's Note:**

> Something from tumblr: an AU featuring an OTP where one person owned a flower shop and another owned a tattoo parlor… but then switch who would be in charge of what. I figured Teldryn would be more likely to work in a flower shop so he ended up in the tattoo parlor. Hijinks ensue.

The sidewalk that she usually used to pop over to the sandwich place from the flower shop had more than one sign announcing its unavailability. Elle groaned in frustration. Thistle Do Nicely barely qualified as being part of downtown, tucked in near the fringes and in walking distance of only one good place to get lunch—which she’d now have to make a major detour to get to. The shop couldn’t afford for her to be out more than fifteen minutes. Reluctantly, she jiggled the keys back into the door.

“Take out or take out?” The options left her mouth flatly. “Exciting choices.”

Sliding some vases out of the way, flowers knocked against one another and leaves tangled against some stems. Elle opened and closed the first drawer, the second drawer, and the third. All she found was floral wire, greening pins, and pruners.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she sighed to the flowers. Not one menu in the place. When was the last time she’d ordered to the shop? It couldn’t have been _that_ long ago. Could it? Leaning heavily against the counter, Elle mulled over the possibilities. The manager’s computer was off-limits only because the office door was locked. Her phone barely counted as a modern cell only by virtue of the fact that it could make calls and could fit in her pocket but that’s where its usefulness ended. Then it hit her.

“Your Mom Hates Us.”

The tattoo parlor was always right next door to the flower shop but she never went past it. Her life always dragged her in the opposite direction. The sandwich shop, the parking garage where her car was, her apartment. Nothing ever gave her reason to walk by the place. Except for now when she was woefully disconnected from the internet and without the means to order food.As if to agree, her stomach growled.

Rolling her eyes, Elle gave in.

Your Mom Hates Us sounded a bit shady but inside it was sterile, the only bit of color or clutter to be found was on the walls displaying sample work and on the small counter where a few books lay askew. The bell to the door jingled as it closed behind her. “Hello?” Elle called out to the empty room.

“One minute!” a response came from the back. The guy didn’t sound like he was in any hurry to get back up to the front. It only took a minute or so for him to turn the corner, smiling widely. “Sorry ‘bout that, ordering lunch.” His words were tinged with an accent she couldn’t place. He ran a hand through his messy mohawk. The muscles of his tattooed arm flexed slightly, made visible by his loose, dark tank top. “Right then, what can I do for you?”

“Actually, I’m from the flower shop next door,” Elle started.

“Thistle Do Nicely?” he chuckled. “That name always cracks me up. Here to decorate those immaculate collar bones?” As he asked, his fingers traced in the air where her clavicles peaked through the thin straps of her camisole.

Elle’s eyes widened, her cheeks ran hot. She quickly regained her composure. “You always make inappropriate comments to people who walk in? I just came in to see if you had a fucking take-out menu, not to feel uncomfortable.”

The guy frowned. “I apologize. You’re right, that was uncalled for.”

Elle relaxed. “So, _do_ you?” The guy hadn’t made the best first impression and she wasn’t in a hurry in invite any more comments from him.

_No matter how cute he is_ , the thought suddenly came to her. She wanted to disagree but she couldn’t. His medium olive skin was even and smooth, save for the tattoos that reached from both elbows to his shoulders. His dark hair, broad nose, and sharp jawline only made her more susceptible to letting him slide by because of his good looks.

“Well, if by ‘menus’ you mean my phone, yeah. But if you’re into pizza, I just ordered some from that small place about five blocks away from here. Only cheese though. Vegetarian,” he explained.

Elle’s heart skipped a beat. “Um… uh,” she stammered. Maybe it was the promise of free food. Maybe it was this guy’s bright smile and the way he cocked his eyebrow in question. 

Whatever the reason, she heard, “Sure,” spill out of her mouth.

_ Oh, god. What am I doing? _

He flashed another smile at her, leaning against the counter. It’s like he was constantly laughing on the inside, amused by life in general. “Glad to see I didn’t offend you too badly.” He held out a hand, “Telem.”

“Elle.” She didn’t take his hand but waved instead. “Telem? Where’s that from?”

He motioned for her to come around, sit with him behind the counter. “You can call me Tel. It’s a bit of a story actually. My mother’s Turkish and my father is Pakistani. It was hard for them to agree on a name. I got off relatively easy compared to my older brother, İskender. He prefers Ender. Elle, though. That’s pretty. A bit old-fashioned.”

“Blame my mother,” she sounded a bit far away, distracted by looking around at the pictures on the wall and the stack of books and papers on the counter. “Do you speak a lot of languages then?”

Tel smirked at her. “If you’re asking if English is my native language, no. But I’m pretty fluent. I speak Turkish as well. Urdu, well… not great.” He nodded toward the books. “You wanna look?”

“What’s in there?”

He reached over and grabbed one with a broken spine. “Sketchbooks. Just stuff I work out for clients, myself, friends…” He flipped through a few pages without stopping, his mouth pursed in mock contemplation. “Cute girls with incredible bone structure and wild black hair.”

She snatched the book out of his hand wanting to be angry but part of her was determined to suppress the smile that threatened to creep across her face. Ignoring his comment, she opened the book to a random page. “Oh.” Elle studied it closer. “Wow.”

Tel smirked and raised his eyebrow again, waiting for more praise.

“These are  _ good _ . Like, really good.”

“Well, I try. I mean, tattoos  _ are  _ permanent.”

Elle flipped through the pages in silence, marveling at the range of images. Some were black and white, some color. Most appeared quickly done with thin, loose lines while others looked a bit more finished with more detail and care. She stopped on a sketch that filled an entire page with nothing but crowded poppies. Tel had caught the delicate veins inside the soft petals but somehow had the skill to capture the harsh deep black on blood red to make the flowers represent all aspects of its meaning in flower language: sleep, peace, and death. Dream-like but also a little insidious.

“I figured you might like the flowers,” he broke through her thoughts.

“We don’t get a lot of requests for poppies at the shop,” Elle responded, turning another page. “A year or so ago, they were in style for wedding bouquets but that fad came and went.”

The only sound between them for a few minutes was the quiet sound of the thick pages turning over every few seconds but when she finally closed the book, she found him sitting back lazily, hands behind his head, and grinning.

“ _What_?” Elle rolled her eyes. “What’s with that stupid grin on your face?”

Telem shrugged. “I can’t grin?”

“Most people don’t grin without a reason.”

“Maybe I do.”

She shoved the sketchbook playfully into his lap. “Well, maybe it’s annoying.”

“Naaaaah,” he laughed and replaced the book back on the counter. “No way. Besides, maybe I’m just genuinely enjoying your company. I’m usually alone Tuesday through Thursday. Slow days so it’s just me.”

Elle nodded and looked around at the walls. The samples weren’t quite as intricate as some of Tel’s sketches, just simple things that looked like generic tattoos.

“I have mentioned I think you’re cute, right?” He playfully used his foot to tap her own.

She groaned, “What _is_ your problem?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t know that I’ve been working next door to a good looking woman this entire time? Practically criminal. We should have started eating pizza together for lunch a long time ago. Plus? It’s _way_ too easy to get you riled up. Kinda fun. You should see how red your face gets every time I call you cute.”

Oh, she had an idea alright. Her cheeks only felt like they were on fire. “And you think making me feel uncomfortable is okay? You’re kind of a sleezebag.”

Tel’s face softened and he apologized, “I didn’t know it made you that uncomfortable. I thought you were just flustered because you seemed shy. I’m sorry, I’ll stop.”

“Good.” Elle crossed her arms, glared at the floor for a second but the silence became a little over-bearing. “Thanks for the pizza,” she grumbled.

He sighed and let a hand run through his mohawk. Tel leaned forward in his chair, arms resting on his thighs. “I really didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’ve got a bad habit of letting my mouth run without thinking about the consequences.”

She broke her staring contest with the floor to glance at him. Just as she opened her mouth to say something, the bell to the door rang and the strong smell of greasy cheese and hot bread wafted through the parlor. The delivery woman waved at Tel, “Guests today? Fancy.”

Tel excused himself by Elle, lightly brushing against her. “You know me, class act. Here,” he jammed his hand into his back pocket and handed her a wad of bills. “Keep the change.”

After the transaction finished, Tel made his way back. He dragged a nearby stool towards them, using it as a table. “Dig in,” he smiled sheepishly at her.

Whatever conversation he’d had in him was gone. Elle grabbed a slice and enjoyed watching thin strings of shiny cheese hang on to the pie before she took finger and snapped the connection. Tel slid a slice off for himself and they chewed in silence.

Silence had made the lunch awkward. Well, that and his mouth. Despite all that, she felt a little guilty. He had invited her to lunch and she hadn’t exactly been gentle in telling him how she felt. Elle didn’t know him and just assumed he was being an ass. He just happened to be mouthy was all. “So…” she considered the slice in her hand intensely. “Can you say ‘pizza’ in Turkish?”

For some reason, Tel laughed loudly. “ _Pizza_.” It sounded like ‘pizza’ but not quite.

“Uh, really?”

“Really. Pizza is one of those words. Like ‘Google’ or ‘Wikipedia.’ You just end up pronouncing it differently.”

Elle bit the inside of her cheek. She was a little annoyed but she thought he was handsome. And, well, okay… she _did_ kind of like it when he called her cute. “And, um… what about, ‘You’re cute?’”

Tel grinned widely and moved closer to her. It sounded like water when it spilled out of his mouth but she couldn’t make out the words.

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to come over and have lunch more often.


	2. A "Fuck You" Bouquet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Person A owns a flower shop and person B comes storming in one day, slaps 20 bucks on the counter and says “How do I passive-aggressively say fuck you in flower?”

Thistle Do Nicely was quiet for a Thursday. Usually, Elle was swamped with orders for last minute Friday apologies and office meetings. But today, she had just one order: two huge baskets for some mother’s birthday. One basket was for home and the other was for some party the family was planning for.

All Elle knew was that she couldn’t see over or around the dozens and dozens of flowers. She’d spent almost three hours on one basket alone. Several times she had to redo the base and flowing greens because the accent flowers the customers had chosen--pear blossom--was being wholly uncooperative.

“Fucking idiots,” Elle mumbled as she yanked out another pear blossom. She spent fifteen minutes convincing them that having sunflowers and irises was going to crowd the composition. They finally agreed on pear blossoms, sunflowers, lavender, and daisies. They never budged from the stupid pear blossoms.

Her face was practically buried in the base greens when she heard the bell to the shop ring.

“Welcome to Thistle Do Nicely,” she muttered and didn’t look up from her work, “How can we help you?”

Not a moment before she got the last word out did a hand slam down a twenty dollar bill beside her and a voice growled, “How do I passive-aggressively say ‘fuck you’ in flower?”

Elle glanced up and grinned. “Well, well, well. Look who’s come in to visit me.”

She’d never seen Telem frown before, not seriously anyway. Right now his mouth was pursed and brow furrowed. This wasn’t a joke; he was angry. Her face softened and her hands stopped what they were doing. Slowly, she gave his forearm a sympathetic stroke.

“You know, for twenty dollars I could tell you what flowers to use. Won’t pay for them.” Elle stopped and put a hand on her hip, studying him. “So, what’s going on?”

Tel ran a hand through his hair, bracing himself against the work table with his other hand. “Fucking art gallery owner.”

“Oh?” she crouched down and opened the cabinets, beginning to search for a vase the owner wouldn’t miss. “What fucking art gallery owner?”

And as Elle began to gather the appropriate flowers, Tel explained:

“So the owner of the shop let me know there was an opening for any artist to display their work at the gallery on the south side of the city, big deal.” Tel began pacing back and forth, his hands waving around animatedly. “So I called the gallery and drove over there to give them my portfolio.”

“That old thing you always haul around with you? She had picked out a clear, flared hourglass vase which was a bit dusty. No one liked the shape of these things back when they’d first stocked them so no harm using it. Once washed, it didn’t look so bad. But she’d make sure the flowers would be quite striking. And full of loathing.

“Hey,” he countered, sounding gently offended. “I brought the nice one with me that day.”

“Go on.” Elle held up a handful of orange lilies. “These are for hatred.”

Telem finally broke into a wide smile and put his hands on her shoulders while she worked. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.” He said close to her ear.

“Mmhmm.” She paid no attention to him, continuing to work. She cut the stems so they were at about the same height.

“And so the gallery owner was there. We talked and he sounded really excited about my stuff.”

Elle picked out the foxglove and showed Tel, “For insincerity then.”

“Oh, it went well beyond being an insincere asshole. This guy failed to mention that he only wanted ‘classically trained’ artists and not people off the street who’ve been spending most of their life spray painting underneath bridges.”

“Ah, so he’s stupid then as well?” Elle broke from his hands for a moment to grab another flower. “Geraniums.” She returned to her work but when he didn’t replace his hands back on her shoulders, she looked over at him and frowned. “You can put your hands back. And maybe put a little work into. I am helping you after all.”

Tel gave her a mischievous grin and complied. “Yes, ma'am.” His hands massaged her gently and she bit her bottom lip, him unable to see her while she worked at clipping and arranging. “Now, where was I?”

“The owner was a stupid, insincere prick?”

“Ah, yes. So, then I told him that I guess four years of art school was a fucking waste if it meant I had to listen to a useless idiot like him.” He sighed. “What a disappointment.”

Elle slipped away one last time and returned with two more bunches of flowers. She held up one. “Meadowsweet for uselessness,” and she put it down to hold up the other. “And some yellow carnations to let someone know they’ve disappointed you.”

And when she went back to work, he didn’t need to be told to get back to work as well.

“You think he didn’t like my tattoos? My hair?” Telem jokingly suggested. “Maybe I should have worn a suit instead of this shirt. Should think about growing my hair out so I’m respectable-looking.”

Elle finished, pleased with her work. She turned around and Tel’s hands moved to brace himself on the workbench with her caught in the middle. She pursed her mouth to pout at him. “But I kinda like your tattoos and hair.” Her hand grasped his but then traveled up his arm. “Don’t know if you’d have the same charm if you were polite and respectable.”

He leaned in close, her hand around his bicep, and he whispered, “Oh, you have no idea how impolite I can be.”

Her face began to feel hot so she let him go. “So, what’s the Fuck You bouquet for?”

Tel reached around her and grabbed the garish collection of colors, shapes, and depth. “For the owner, of course. Have to be polite and thank him for meeting with me. Flowers seemed like a nice touch.”

“Uh huh,” Elle crossed her arms. “A nice touch for a sixty year old secretary.”

“Alright, alright.” Tel shrugged and grinned. “Maybe wanted an excuse to come see you. You’ve only been in to see me to repay for that pizza I ordered.”

“And you think those flowers are free?”

“Now, I’d never do that to a small business.” Tel was practically out the door when he called out, “Dinner tonight on me?” And he was out the door.

Elle fumed. She dashed to the front door and yelled down to the next store. “I never agreed to a date.”

“A date?” Tel asked in mock innocence, the door to Your Mom Hates Us halfway opened. “Well, if that’s what you want to call it, I’ll pay for something nice. Maybe even cover my arms up.”

“That’s not…” Elle stomped her feet and clenched her fists. “You have to ask and not demand!”

He cocked his mouth to one side and smirked. “Pretty sure I did ask. You can tell me no.”

She snorted, gritted her teeth. “Fine! I’ll go but if you… you try anything I’ll--”

“--what? Tell me to get back to massaging your shoulders?” Tel flashed her a brilliant grin.

Elle glared at him. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“Should I stop?” Tel frowned and become serious. “I thought you were alright with my poking fun at you?”

And her face softened. “Dinner was a joke?”

“What? No!” he rushed back with the flowers in hand. “I meant calling it… well, you know.”

She studied her shoes, mumbling. “I wouldn’t mind if it were, I guess.”

“Really then?”

Elle gave him an uncertain smile. “Sure. Be a nice change from pizza at the tattoo shop.”

He flashed another brilliant smile at her. “It’s a date.”


	3. Isn't It Crepe?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell this AU was just an excuse for me to roll out every pun possible?

Two weeks had passed and Elle had not heard from Telem since the day he’d barged in, slapped money on the counter, and asked for a “Fuck You” bouquet. It had also been two weeks since he’d asked her out on a date. Or at least she was pretty sure that’s what it had turned into.

And then he disappeared for two weeks without warning.

Elle hauled in the last of the large potted arrangements from outside, placing it on the floor near the door. She locked up for the evening and walked to the back. Even though Thistle Do Nicely closed forty-five minutes ago to customers, it would be another two or so hours until she could go home. All the flowers on display outside for the day needed to be sprayed for any stray aphids or other pests. Then she had to get the books ready for the owner to go over in the morning. Evan de Vries stopped in every morning and left before lunch. After the incident a few weeks ago when her cell phone had accidentally gotten locked in the office, she’d convinced him to give her a master key to the place. It made moving around much easier now that she was the only full-time employee. Part-timers were expensive and it wasn’t like she had anything better to do anyway.

The books were easy enough. All that needed to be done was a close-out sheet for the day’s sales and an updated inventory list. Now came the tedious task of spraying for pests. Thistle Do Nicely was known for using only organic supplies so their pesticide was a homemade mixture of hot water, dish soap, dried ground chili pepper, chopped onions, and minced garlic. Elle hated this part because unless she wore two pairs of rubber gloves, the smell wouldn’t come out of her fingertips unless she scrubbed furiously with lemon wedges for several minutes. But nothing was hard about it. She put the gloves on and dutifully sprayed the dozens of arrangements she’d placed inside for the day, flowers covering the shop entirely now.

Elle was nearly finished when she heard some frantic knocking at the door. She looked up, ready to give whoever was hoping to come in after close a furious scowl. On the other side was Tel, waving and smiling sheepishly. She arched a brow and cocked her mouth in displeasure. He pointed at himself and then inside, mouthing something. Can I come in? He was dressed a bit nicer than usual, an expensive-looking jacket over a button-up, collared shirt and a pair of black slacks. It all looked a bit strange with his thick hair still in its usual cut.

Sighing, she gave it some thought. Torn between wanting to give him a piece of her mind and wanting to hear whatever lame excuse he had, Elle couldn’t quite decide on what a good reason to let him in would be. Either way, she made her way through the maze of plants and unlocked the door, opening it and letting him in before closing it again.

Tel rubbed his neck. “Hi.”

Elle crossed her arms, the spray in one hand. “Hi yourself.”

He frowned. “It’s… uh… been a minute, yeah?”

She rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Yeah. _A minute_.”

Smiling, he shrugged. “I know, it was a dick move. My brother blew into town without warning, as usual, and so there was obligatory family time to be had. I took off work.”

“And conveniently forgot to tell me something had come up?” Elle went back to spraying the plants. “ _Really_ classy of you. You know, most guys would at least try to sleep with me before ignoring me. Thanks for sparing me a trip to Planned Parenthood to test for STDs.”

She didn’t look at him but definitely heard him snort in frustration before answering, “Okay, first off: I came down here to apologize and, second: what? You think I would just ignore you? We’ve shared pizza together, felt like we were getting close…” he trailed off before walking over and staying her hand from spraying any further, flashing a brilliant smile. “Unless, I was, um, wrong about us having some chemistry, yeah?” Elle glared at him. Tel’s smile dropped. “Really hope I wasn’t wrong. Was kind of hoping we could, uh, catch some dinner now. My treat?”

She wanted to ignore a lot of the things he was saying. But then again she hadn’t accounted for missing him a bit during his absence. The fact that he looked great didn’t hurt either. “And at no point did it occur to you call the shop? My phone? Pop in for a fucking second?”

“Hey,” he held up his hands. “I don’t have your number and you’ve no idea what it’s like when Ender finally decides to pop back up from traveling. My parents decide that our family is the only thing I’ve got going on in my life. Literally. What was I supposed to tell them? _Sorry, but I’ve got this really hot woman who has somehow agreed to a date with me_?”

Elle felt her face light up. “Um, well, I—” She suddenly became very interested in spraying the plants again.

Tel laughed. “Y’know, you’re kind of adorable when you’re at a loss for words.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Does that mean that you’ll come have dinner with me once you’re finished?”

“Dinner?” She plucked off a dying leaf before moving onto the next plant. “You’re dressed to the nines and I’ve got on this.” She motioned down at today’s outfit: a pair of very short grey shorts, an oversized emerald green sweater, a pair of well-worn high tops, and some too-long green socks that didn’t match her sweater bunched down. Her wild hair was pinned up into a huge, messy bun. “Not a whole lot of notice.”  
  
“What?” Tel cautiously slipped his arm around her waist. Elle glanced at him but allowed the action. “You look fucking fantastic.”

She held the bottle up towards him and mimicked shooting him. “ _Alright_ , geesh. There’s no need to lay on anything _that_ thick. You’re forgiven.”

He chuckled before releasing her and shoving the bottle down playfully. “Yeah, wouldn’t want to smell like an Italian restaurant. What’s in that stuff? Whole place smells like it’s been doused in some seasoning gone bad.”

“Garlic, onion, chili,” Elle sprayed a large leaf evenly. “And some soap. Organic bug spray.”

“Huh.” Tel seemed genuinely interested in watching work hands work over the delicate leaves and petals of the plants that had been outside. “And it really works?”

She shrugged. “Well, we aren’t overrun with aphids in here so good enough. I hate those tiny bastards.”

He strolled around for a bit while she continued to work. Once in awhile, Tel would ask a question or two. “What’s this plant?” or “These weird leaves mean anything special?”

She’d look up from her work and find herself smiling at him and his curiosity. No one ever asked so many questions out of pure interest. Usually people just wanted something pretty to give to someone else. No one really cared about what Elle knew or her opinions. Customers wanted what they wanted and she usually had to argue with them to convince them she was right. It was insulting the way everyone thought she was some drop-out at a dead end job with no skills.

“Alright,” Elle declared, ripping the gloves off. “Let me get my things and I guess we can be off. So, what’s this date going to be like?”

While she was in the back, she heard Tel correct her. “Date? Nah! This is too short notice for something like that and I _really_ want to impress you when the time comes. I just thought we could hang out, like we’ve done for lunch. But, like, dinner. Was thinking maybe we could stroll around downtown, hit some food trucks?”

“Food trucks?” Elle popped out and fiddled with her keys. “I’m guessing you’ve gotten to sit around all day in that get-up but I’ve been on my feet all day. And you wanna walk around?”

He rolled his eyes, rolling the sleeves of his jacket up and the shirt cuffs over the ends. “We won’t hit every truck. Just one or two. Then find a nice spot to settle down in the plaza, yeah?”

She perked up. The downtown area of the city was well-known for its open plaza and the immaculate garden and fountains in and around it. The city contracted Mr. de Vries a few years ago to handle the gardening and so that’s where he spent most of his time. He let Elle mostly run the shop. It was one of her favorite parts of the city. The fountains especially.

“Oh, um…” her voice trailed off.

Tel’s face softened. “Something wrong?”

Elle shook her head. “No, not at all.”

The smile bloomed quickly back on his face. He offered her an arm. “Then shall we? I know this great truck.”

She wrapped her hand around his arm and locked the door behind them. “So, I usually skip any downtown festivities during the weekend in favor of watching Netflix back at my apartment. The food trucks any good down here?”

“Eeeeh.” Tel shrugged and grinned. “They’re food trucks, _çiçeğim_. Can't expect the world.”

Elle bit the inside of her cheek, choking back the goofy smile threatening to burst out. Whatever he'd called her, it had to be some sort of sweet nickname. It had been a while since she'd been interested in anyone who used pet names but Tel loved making her blush.

He walked her past at least five trucks before settling on one that was painted bright, neon purple and had the words _ISN’T IT CREPE?_ emblazoned on the side in brilliant white, outlined in green.

“This is my favorite stand,” he announced, pulling out his wallet. “And I’ve got thirty whole dollars to my name tonight so we can go _wild_.” Tel gave her a brilliant smile.

She raised an eyebrow at him, sighing. “ _Wow_ , you’re going all out on this date, huh?”

“This _isn’t_ the date,” he corrected and ribbed her gently. “Remember? This is us just hanging out.”

Unwinding herself from him, Elle cocked her hip and gave him a playful smirk, her eyes glittering mischievously. “ _Oooooh_ , I see. So, you’re paying for high-class food and taking me to ‘hang out’ in a spot famous in the city for first kisses, prom pictures, wedding proposals…”

Tel rolled his eyes and scoffed. “You wanna free dinner or not?”

“ _Fine_ ,” she grabbed his arm again, yanking him towards the short line. “You better hope this is good or I’m going to complain for weeks about how much it sucks _hanging out_ with you.” She stuck her tongue playfully.

Before she could stick it back in, Tel bent down slightly and stuck out his tongue, briefly tapping the tip of his on hers.

She yelped and covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh my _god_!” Elle stared at him, wide eyed. “What the _fuck_ , Tel?”

He gave her a wicked grin. “I’ve been told it’s hard to _tame my tongue_.” Winking, his hands slinked around her waist.

But she wasn’t having any of it. Huffing, she crossed her arms. “Next time your tongue decides to wander, I’m ripping it out of you.”

“ _Nice_ ,” Tel squeezed her before letting her go. “I like feisty and firey.”

“You’re going to hate me if you keep pulling this shit.”

He frowned. “Apologies, _çiçeğim_. Was just having a bit of fun. I went too far.”

“I’d say,” she grumbled, clutching her arms around herself tighter. At this point all she wanted was whatever the hell she’d eat from this truck and then go back home to watch Netflix. People were staring at her after snapping at Telem. It made her feel flushed and anxious.

Instead of trying to talk to her, Tel was intently focused on the menu and turned completely away from her.

She sighed. This was horrible.

Instead of focusing on the silence, Elle took a page out of Tel’s book and read over the menu. It all seemed pretty boring until she found the section labeled Sweet Stuff. Her arms dropped and she tapped Tel’s shoulder.

“What’s up?” His voice still seemed cheerful as ever. Maybe he was just really good at always sounding amused so that no one could ever tell if he was upset. If Elle was upset, everyone knew.

“You still paying?” With a nod from Tel, she continued, “I want a strawberry and nutella crepe.”

An eyebrow quirked upward. “Dessert for dinner?” He laughed. “Oh, man, _yeah_. Yeah. Sure. _Whatever_ you want.”

Oh. The way he said those last three words made her skin flush with heat. “Um, uh… o-okay then.”

When they finally got to the head of the line, Tel already rattling his order off with ease. Something called a _Plum Fun_ and a large, unsweetened black tea. Elle got a hot vanilla latte in addition to the crepe. While they watched the crepes being made, he tried making some well-meaning jabs about her sweet tooth and she gently bumped him with her hip. They both slowly sipped at their drinks.

Finally, the woman gave them their hot and fresh crepes, wrapped tightly in thick napkins. Holding their food and drinks, they settled on a bench tucked away near a vertical fountain that dwarfed both of them, water spilling in zigzags along scooped stairsteps. Around them were lush bushes full of Peruvian lilies and catmint.

Tel began unwrapping his crepe and took a huge bite out of it. Whatever it was smelled spicy and sweet. He chewed happily before swallowing. “Ah. I was starving. I’ve not eaten since breakfast this morning.”

“Oh?” Elle took small, careful bites out of hers. She didn’t want to drip Nutella on her sweater. “Why’s that?”

“Had breakfast with the family before running off to meet with an art museum curator.” Tel took another bite, swallowed. “Same one you made that nice bouquet for. He liked that subtle _fuck you_ so much, he decided to actually look at my portfolio and, lo and behold, I might be under consideration for a show.”

“Wha- _mmh_?” Elle exclaimed, her mouth still full. Without meaning to, her next bite didn’t quite make her mouth. A small bit of Nutella smeared along the side of her lips.

Tel grinned and moved his thumb to wipe away the mess before she could get to her napkin. That would have been tolerable had he not then slowly sucked the spread off his thumb, his lips curving tortuously along the mound of his thumb. All the while, he didn’t break his eyes from her, a smile still resting easily along his mouth.

Elle could have spontaneously combust. “ _Stop that_. Why are you being so…” she licked her lips, tasting the strawberry and hazelnut lingering there. “ _Mean_?”

“Oooooh, _çiçeğim_.” Tel sat back, crossed one leg over the other, and moved his free arm so that it rested behind her. “You don’t _know_ the definition of mean.”

“And why do you keep calling me… chicheem?” The word fumbled in her mouth, unskilled with it.

He laughed again. “No. It’s _çiçeğim_ ,” he enunciated slowly. “Turkish.”

“For what?”

Taking another bite, he shrugged. “You’ve got a phone.”

Elle playfully shoved him. “You know my phone sucks.”

“Sucks to be you then.” He winked and kept eating.

She wasn’t going to beg him to tell her, so she worked on her own crepe instead. Every now and then, Elle would take sips of her latte. When she stole glances out of the corner of her eye, she’d catch Tel watching her and smiling while slowly chewing his food.

“So,” she began slowly. “Your own show, huh?”

“Yep,” he beamed. “It was some great news to get so I could rub it in my brother’s face before he left.”

Geesh. This guy and his brother either hated one another or, more than like, made one-upping a family activity. “Sounds fantastic. When will you hear back from the curator?”

Tel shoved the last bit of crepe into his mouth and washed it down with some tea. “Probably next week. I’ve got some older pieces that are okay but I hope he’ll give me three months to work on a new theme. Something a bit more, uh… _inspired_.”

“Inspired?” Elle finished off her crepe as well. “Like what?”

He shrugged and grinned. “Fuck if I know,” he laughed. “Hoping something will come to me. Just seems a bit cheap to use old stuff, yeah?”

Taking a slow sip of her latte, it was her turn to shrug. How was she supposed to know what went on in that world? “Uh, sure? Totally cheap.”

But it wasn’t convincing enough. Tel gave her an amused look, smirking. “You could just ask, yeah?”

“Oh, why do that when I can just _pretend_ I know what the process is?” Elle gave him a soft smile.

Scooching a tad closer to her, Tel chuckled. “To be honest, I don’t know how the elitist snobs up in that museum do things. I just say a bunch of things I hear other artists say. Don’t be cheap, don’t sell out, let your muse rest once in awhile. The kind of bullshit I’m not sure I really believe in.” He tapped her on the shoulder. “Is it, uh… okay that I’m this close? I know I’ve been driving you nuts. I promise it’s out of habit, with my friends and the like.”

Elle removed the lid to her coffee and glanced at some of the lingering clouds swirling about as if she could divine answers from them. It wasn’t that she didn’t like him being so close. He was just so… front and forward. Constantly laughing on the inside and the out. And it sounded like Telem was also the kind of person who liked having lots of friends. Definitely not how she’d laid out her life after being kicked out of college.

“No,” she sipped at her lukewarm drink. “This is fine. You aren’t bothering me.”

He pursed his mouth in mock contemplation. “You’re fine as in you like this or you’re fine as in you’re tolerating this because you’re uncomfortable?”

She flinched upwards, her eyes wide and staring at him. Of course, Tel seemed amused. Was she that easy to read? “I’m fine as in _I’m fine_.”

“That so?”

“Yes,” she groaned. “If I didn't want you this close, I'd tell you. Better yet, I'd dump my drink on you.”

He laughed. “Fair enough. I’d probably deserve it.”

It was her turn to laugh. “Probably? After the stunt you pulled with your tongue, I should make you buy me dinner tomorrow.”

He nodded, grinning even wider. “That so, yeah?”

This guy was something else. Hardly ever serious, mouthy. But damn did he look good no matter what he wore. Elle was surprised by how much she was willing to let him get away him when all he usually offered was a wink and a smile.

Worst? He probably knew what he was doing.

“Yeah. It's only fair. You need to learn some _manners_ ,” she teased.

And he moved so close to her that their legs had no space between them. The look on Tel’s face made her heart race. A less-than-innocent smile teased at the corners of his mouth while his dark eyes glittered in anticipation. “And you're the person who's going to _teach_ me, hmm?”

She rolled her eyes and scoffed. “In your _dreams_ , maybe.”

He leaned down close, so close she thought he was trying to kiss her until his arm stretched past her and snapped a lily from the leaves. Examining it for a moment, he presented it to her. “What kind of plant is this?”

By some miracle Elle was able to regain her breath. “A lily. Why?”

“Dunno,” he reached over and gently tucked some of her hair behind her ear, fingers brushing against her skin. It took some work, but he was able to slide the stem of the lily such that it rested behind her ear. “Thought it was pretty.”

Her own fingers traced the delicate edges of the petals. “Seems like a fairly bland answer for an artist,” she offered softly. Glancing up at him, she found an indecipherable look drawn upon his face--gentle smile, eyes half-lidded. “Just pretty, huh?”

“Mmhmm,” Telem agreed. “ _Very_ pretty.”

Elle played with the edges of her sweater before tapping one of his feet with one of hers. “So, same time tomorrow? Dinner on you again? Y’know, because you were being a jerk.”

He grinned. “I’d love to.”


	4. Quid Pro Quo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for somewhat explicit description of dubiously consensual sex acts

Her phone rang. Elle groaned from under her thick comforter, one of her hands snaking out to feel around for the cell before the call went to voicemail. It took a moment before she caught it and flipped it open. Instead of leaving the comfort of the cocoon she'd constructed, she languidly slid the phone underneath with her.

“ _What_ ?” Elle mumbled.

“Well, good morning to you too.”

She could have thrown the thing against the wall. If she'd just _checked_ the caller ID, then she wouldn't have to talk to her brother.

Tristan Rabinvogel did his best to give her space but she still hated talking with him even on few, short occasions like this. It was only _partly_ his fault. The rest were her own feelings of guilt and inadequacy.

“It's my day _off_ , Tristan.” Elle sat up and raked her fingers through what hair she could. No doubt it was probably a wild cloud at the moment, an impending thunderstorm. “And I've spent the last two nights out later than I usually do.”

On the other end, she thought she could hear someone else. Probably Bronwen. Those two were inseparable. “Oh?” That single word held the promise of dozens of questions but Tristan knew better than to pry. “Was the shop busy?”

She was lucky he kept it down to _one_. He did his very best to always ask her about the shop. “No, the shop wasn't busy,” was all she gave him.

The curt answer meant he wasn't going to ask anything else which was a good thing because there was no way _in hell_ that she could imagine her telling her brother about anyone she was interested in. Much less about Telem. And he didn't. Instead, Tristan offered, “I've caught up on my work for the week. Thought we could catch breakfast. On me?”

 _Ugh, ugh,_ **_ugh_**. Breakfast with Tristan would be painful. Every once in awhile, he felt the need to take her out and see how her life was going since being expelled from college five years ago. He didn't do much except say that it was nice to hear the shop was going well. Nothing useful aside from that.

“Tristan, it’s _Sunday_. My only real day off.”

“I know, I know,” his voice rushed out. “But please? It can be your choice. Anywhere.”

Elle rolled her bleary eyes and yawned. “It’s, like…” Oh, _fuck._ “What the _hell_ , Tristan? It’s seven in the _fucking_ morning.”

“ _Please_ , Ellery.” _Oooooh_. He _was_ desperate, using her full name like that. It’s one of those things that plucked at her heartstrings with a tiny reverberation of pain and longing. Her brother only did that when he was playing dirty.

She nearly _did_ hang up on him then but instead snapped at him. “A simple ‘please’ would suffice, jackass. And _fine._ But I’m going to choose a place downtown so I can walk.” A beat later and Elle suggested, “That one waffle place.”

“The Waffle Shack?”

“Not the _fucking_ Waffle Shack. If you’re paying, I’m going to eat good. That other one…” she snapped her fingers, trying to will the name to come to her by magic. “Dimples. _That_ one.”

Elle smirked as she could practically hear Tristan wince in pain. Dimples was notoriously expensive for waffles and coffee. Of course, the coffee was imported and hard to find anywhere else in the city. The waffles came in varieties such as a red velvet waffle (topped with vanilla cream cheese, fresh strawberries, walnuts and chocolate sauce) and a cheddar and short rib waffle (a cheddar waffle served with braised short ribs). And, of course, Elle’s favorite: a liege waffle breakfast.

But if her brother was going to call at seven in the morning and wanted to take her to breakfast, this was the price he’d pay. Throwing her legs over the bed, she cradled the phone between her cheek and her shoulder.

“I’m _waaaaaiting_ ,” Elle sang mockingly. Then she pouted. “Or is writing your dissertation _so_ expensive that your wallet is empty?”

 _That_ got to him. “ _Ellery_. Don’t pull that kind of nonsense. Just ask politely.”

“ _Psht_ . Why the hell would I do _that_ ?” Elle stepped over a pile of dirty laundry and tripped over a lone shoe with no mate. Tristan groaned and she let up on him. “ _Fine_. Waffle Shack it is but I’m going to eat a whole stack chock-full of chocolate chips and piled with whipped cream.”

Bronwen said something in the background. Elle thought it sounded irritated, like chastisement. Tristan finally shushed her. Elle could just imagine him swatting her away as she flitted about like a hummingbird, trying to listen in on the conversation.

“Still there, Elle?” He sounded worn out. “Waffle Shack at 8? My meager assistantship is within that budget.”

Elle yanked open a drawer and rummaged through the crumpled up shirts. “ _Fine_. I’ll get ready and start walking over there. Okay? And tell Bronwen hi, I guess.” She hung up the phone with nothing more than that, already digging out a clean pair of underwear and some pants. Shower would have to be quick. Waffle Shack was about a thirty minute walk so no time to waste.

She gathered her hair up. A few strands hung loosely, framing her face. The shower _couldn't_ be leisurely. There was no time. Most days Elle would turn the heat up as high as it would go and soak until the water turned to ice. And then she'd stay in for a few minutes longer. A quick lather and rinse, a bit of face scrub, and the whole affair was over in less than ten minutes.

The shirt was just some plain green thing, something faded on it and a bit baggy. Over the jeans, she threw on an old pair of boots. Before running out the door, Elle grabbed an old leather jacket two sizes too big for her and threw it on. It was from an ex-boyfriend but it was a bit chilly.

She didn't _hate_ her brother but she didn't feel good around him either. Tristan was in the middle of working on his doctorate in Biochemistry--something Elle wasn't quite as good with--and, well, their past together had been a bit checkered. Nowadays, he seemed _too_ supportive but it felt like he was setting her up for something than real encouragement.

Elle couldn't blame him though. After their parents died, things just fell apart. No one's fault. Just a bunch of bad decisions on everyone's part.

Standing in front of the Waffle Shack, she's trying to ignore all of those gross feelings and focusing on the promise of some free food. Out of the corner of her eye, she spots Tristan’s car. It's fairly new, maybe two years old but only one owner before her brother. There's XM radio, all of his mobile devices can connect by Bluetooth to the thing, _and_ it has heated seats.

God. She'd _kill_ for something like that. Not the old car she ran around in--her father's old pride and joy.

The Waffle Shack was mostly empty. In one corner sat an elderly couple drinking coffee and eating some breakfast that looked like it was from the five hundred calories or less section of the menu. At the counter sat two grizzled old men yammering about the way the president was running the country.

In a booth a bit tucked away from the rest of place sat her brother. Elle couldn't stop herself from smiling. Despite being three years apart, she and her older brother favored each other so much that people often mistook them for twins.

His nose was buried in a newspaper and his wild, black hair was thrown into a messy bun with a few strands framing his face--just like her. Tristan was dressed a bit better though: a dark red button-up shirt paired with a pair of jeans. A grey jacket hung over the back of his chair. In front of him was a mug of something, steam swirling from the top in amorphous shapes.

“Hey,” Elle gave a quick wave. “Anything good in the news?”

Tristan’s shot up to meet hers. He gave a cautious but optimistic smile. “Ellery! It's so good to see you!”

She cringed at her full name but didn't say anything. Her brother shot up and embraced her fully. She relented and hugged him back. “Yeah, yeah. You order already?”

“No. Didn't know how long you'd stay. I know it's early but didn't know if you had plans the rest of the day. Figured this would be the best time to catch you.”

She slid into the chair and raised a brow at him. “You couldn't have called me yesterday to make plans?”

He returned her look. “And have you ignore my call or make some last minute excuse?” Tristan picked up his mug and took a small sip. “No thanks.”

Okay. It was possible that he knew her better than she gave him credit for. Elle shrugged and waved a hand at a waitress. “Can I get a coffee? Creamer please.”

The waitress replied, “I'll let your waitress know,” before racing off to the back.

Elle grabbed the tiny box of sugar packets and dumped the contents out, organizing them into same-colored piles. “How's that dissertation going?”

Tristan shrugged before folding his paper and putting it aside. “At the moment it's not. I've got a bit of writer’s block so I'm taking the week off.”

“Bronwen doing okay?” Elle had all the colors organized. She concentrated on picking up the piles one by one, flipping packets over to make sure all the labels were facing the same direction.

“Yeah, she's fine. Working on a chapter today and then going out on a date with someone who she described as ‘scraping the bottom of the barrel.’”

Their waitress came by with Elle’s coffee and a tiny bowl of creamer packets. They ordered a modest breakfast--a stack of waffles for each of them--and thanked the woman for her help.

After Elle had her coffee set how she liked it, she set about dumping the leftover creamers and constructing a tiny pyramid. “Nice to hear that you didn't break her heart _too_ badly.”

“ _Don't,_ Ellery,” he snapped at her. “You don't know anything about that situation.”

“What's to know?” she finally looked up to find him glaring at her from a hooded glance. “You're asexual and she prefers to have sex. Often.”

She watched him breathe in and out. His eyes closed softly as he clenched and unclenched his fist a few times. Unsurprisingly, they both had their own issues with anger. Tristan’s anger was quiet and cold. Elle’s was boisterous and like fire. But neither had a good relationship with the feeling.

Instead of chastising her, Tristan exhaled and let it go. “Anyway. I wanted to see how things were with the flower shop, you, and whatever else is going on. Anything exciting?”

She stirred the coffee in lazy strokes, purposefully clinking the spoon against the mug a few times. “I guess everything's okay. Shop is as steady as ever. Boss is actually talking about hiring someone else for the place, says I might be training someone.”

“Bet you're over the moon about _that_ ,” Tristan observed, giving her a knowing grin.

“Oh, just _thrilled_ ,” Elle smiled at him. It was so hard sometimes, acting like they had completely normal and totally _not_ dysfunctional sibling relationship. But there were small moments, like this, where both of them rode the same wavelength. These times made her believe they could move past all the ugliness from before.

“Elle,” Tristan broke her train of thought. “I'm going to be completely honest: I wanted to talk to you about finishing college.”

And then there were moments like _this_.

She glared at him and flicked the spoon onto the table, flecks of coffee spitting here and there. “ ** _No_ **. We've talked about this before and I'm not interested.”

“You were one semester away from finishing! _One_!” Tristan’s hands flew out and started wildly gesturing in ways she couldn't follow. “I've been talking with some higher ups and that expulsion can be re-evaluated, that you can just make up some credits with--”

She slammed a hand down. “I said **_no_ ** !” Elle hissed. “No, _no_ , **_no_ **.”

“Why _not_?” he practically shrieked.

At this point, what patrons and employees were around were staring at them. If Tristan thought a public place would stop her from causing a scene, he was _sorely_ mistaken. Fuck _him_ and fuck _this_. Shooting up from the chair, Elle dug into her pockets and threw down a twenty dollar bill. Enough for her coffee, her uneaten waffles, and a tip.

“Because I don't need a _fucking_ college degree to be worthwhile,” she spat. “Nice breakfast. Talk to you later.”

And then she stormed out but she didn't go home. No point. She was up now. Instead she stormed off to Thistle Do Nicely. Work would clear her head. There was always de-weeding to be done, soil to mix, tools to clean, orders to be made, prep for the next season--

Elle shook her head, a dark cloud of hair bouncing around with the motion. She should have known that her brother was up to something and that _something_ was always the same thing. “ _Go back to college, Ellery_ ,” Elle muttered under her breath as she fiddled clumsily with the keys to the door. The right one now in place, she threw open the door. “ _You were only one semester away, Ellery_ .” She nearly tripped over one of the outdoor plants placed inside for the day. Growling in frustration, Elle hurled her keys to the floor. “ _Because you’re not good enough unless you’re like_ **_me,_ ** _Ellery._ ”

She jumped at a knock at the door. Who the everloving _fuck_ \--

And there was Tel, a sheepish smile and a wave. Pointing at the door, he mouthed, “Come in?”

Huffing with each heavy stomp, Elle yanked the door open. “ _What_ ? What could you _possibly_ want right now?”

The corner of his mouth quirked upward, a bit displeased. “Well, as we’re neighbors, I _happened_ to notice you storming in on a day that this place is _closed_. I’ve worked here for years and have never seen anyone open this place on a Sunday. And you don’t seem okay. But with that sort of greeting, I’m tempted to tell you to go fuck yourself.”

She deflated. Being angry at the wrong person was a skill she excelled at. “Sorry,” Elle mumbled and invited him in. “I’m okay. Just… needed to check on something.”

He crossed his arms. “You’re _okay_ okay or you’re okay as in you don’t want to tell me what’s up?”

Elle gave him an exasperated look. She was getting _real_ tired of him always hitting straight at the issue. “I’m _okay_. Just some personal stuff. Needed a break from it so I’m here. Gonna do some work.”

He unfolded his arms and began examining the nearest plant: a leafy pygmy date. He took a leaf between his fingers and rubbed the edges tenderly. Elle was a bit embarrassed at how intimate she found the motion to be, the delicateness of the movement.  Tel was an artist, currently a tattoo artist. Every motion his hands made had to be trained, purposeful, exact.

Tel broke the moment, glancing up at her. “I apologize. I must seem like some crazy guy just waiting and watching for you to fall apart, yeah? The kind who wants to swoop in on an emotionally vulnerable moment so I can manipulate you in some way.”

Her eyes widened. “Um… uh. Yeah. Kinda."

He gave her one of his brilliant and bright smiles. “No need to act shocked. I kinda debated on whether or not to even check in on you but I was worried. You’re a bit fiery but I’ve never seen you like that before.”

Elle’s face softened. She rubbed the back of her neck, suddenly finding her shoes fascinating. “Yeah, it’s alright. Nothing big.” Absentmindedly, she began flitting about some of the nearby plants, tending to them. “Stuff I’m used to. But, uh, thanks for checking in.”

Instead of leaving, Tel offered, “I could stay for a while if you want some help. Or you could come over to the shop, hang out with me and Conner. He’s working on someone’s back at the moment. I’m just cleaning, no appointments today.”

She gave it some thought before shaking her head. “I’d rather be here. Over there I’d feel like I was sitting around, doing nothing.”

He laughed. “I know the feeling.”

She gave him a small smile, feeling a bit better. “I wouldn’t mind some company.” Walking over to the counter, she dug out a bottle a bit cloudy with kelp remnants. “Wanna become an expert in foilar feeding?” She tossed the bottle to him and he caught it, dancing in victory.

“Yes!” he lifted up the bottle in one hand and pumped his other fist. “And Sadat wins it for the gold!” He shook the bottle a bit and continued on in Turkish. Elle would never admit it, but listening to him in his native tongue was fascinating. She would have never guessed English wasn’t his first language aside from some quirks and an accent. Tel finally quieted down. “So what do I _do_ with this?” he laughed.

She shook her head, her smile growing. “Spray the leaves but _only_ the leaves--no flowers. It’s plant food. Best time to do this is either early in the morning or late at night. Gotta make sure the pores of the leaves are opened at their most for maximum absorption.”

While he tended to that, Elle pulled out a binder and a calculator. While she punched in numbers with the end of a pen, she noticed that the only sound in the store was the clicking of the pen against the buttons and Tel hard at work with the spray bottle. But nothing from him. No chatter, no jokes. Nothing. And, strangely, it _bothered_ her. She did her best to concentrate on setting up next month’s budget (honestly, it was far too early to be worried about it), scratching down a figure down here and there. Once in awhile, Elle chewed thoughtfully on the end of her pen but would chance a peek at him every now and then. He seemed wholly content on the task at him.

She slammed the pen down. “And what’s wrong with _you_? Why aren’t you your usual mouthy self?

He looked up, thoroughly surprised. “I beg your pardon?”

Elle bit her bottom lip, her face hot. “I, uh…” Confronted with his response, she realized how silly her outburst was. “You’re just, um, not so quiet.”

Tel arched a brow. “ _And_?”

“And, um…”

What was she _supposed_ to say to that? _I like your stupid jokes? I’ve gotten used to hearing your voice when you’re around? I was really hoping that if you stayed here, you could fill in the silence with_ **_something_ ** _so I wouldn’t have to be stuck with my own thoughts?_

Elle eloquently condensed all of those answers into: “Just wondered.”

At first, he slowly nodded as if working something out. Then he gave her the widest of knowing grins. “Yeah, I _was_ missing the sound of my own voice. Thanks for the reminder.” He chuckled at the joke made at his own expense. And he went back to work, this time chatting happily. “Back in art school, there was this guy who did that thing I mentioned--”

“--an emotional vulture?” Elle supplied. She went back to work as well.

“Yeah,” he laughed. “An apt name. This guy though. Hot as hell and worked as a nude model. Shit. I never got flustered during a class but anytime this guy was scheduled, I’d skip because I just _knew_ I’d be trying to draw with a hard-on screaming at me.”

Elle’s eyes shot up at the mention of his erection and--he _must_ have known it would get a rise out of her--he gave her a wink. Her cheeks burned and she practically buried her nose in the paperwork.

“But, you find someone that attractive and _something_ has to be wrong, yeah?” His voice became sadder than she thought possible. “It was art school. It was a rough time for me. I cried a lot, spent lots of long hours in the studio throwing away drawing after drawing because I thought it was all shit. One night, this guy, I guess he was just coming in to check the schedule, he found me crying and I thought it was so sweet the way he tried to take care of me.”

Elle frowned. “I’m guessing this ends badly?”

Tel sprayed down a large leaf. “Oh, _badly_ doesn’t begin to describe it. I think there was something between us, just mutual attraction, but then he started hanging out in the art department all the time--he wasn’t one of us, just had a part-time job--and it was like he was always watching and waiting for me to breakdown so he could jump in and, well…”

It wasn’t like him to trail off. And he still sounded so sad.

“You, um, don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she said, softly and quietly.

He looked up at her, his face serious. The spray bottle hung from his hand. “That’s kind of you. But it’s alright. Turned out his emotional work came with a price, a--” he snapped his fingers, hoping to will the word to come into existence. “ _Quid pro quo_. He’d take time and listen but in exchange…” Tel went back to spraying, more intently interested in the activity now. “It was always something like, ‘I took care of you, Tel. It’s only fair you take care of me.’ Of course, me taking care of him always meant a hand job or a blow job.”

He went quiet after that and suddenly Elle’s botched waffle house breakfast with her brother seemed stupid. She allowed the pen to slip from her fingers and, before she knew it, her feet were carrying her around the counter and through the maze of potted plants. Tel must not have noticed her because he flinched when she wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head against his back.

“You didn’t have to tell me that,” she whispered against his shirt. It was something dark purple and soft. “I just had some stupid family stuff this morning. It’s not that important.”

Tel allowed the spray bottle to gingerly slip from his fingers. It fell into a pot. His hands, both free now, reached up to grasp hers. “Don’t worry about me, _çiçeğim._ All in the past, I’ve gotten help and moved on. Just wanted you to know that I’d never do that to you. You’re upset and you want me to stay. I’m not going to ask for anything in return. I _want_ to be here.”

Elle felt light and heavy all at once. Her stomach was now made of a beehive, buzzing and flipping and causing her hands to feel everything far too much. He smelled liked the sea on a dark, moonless night. She liked the way his fingers played with the edge of her jacket, playfully tugging once in awhile. Most of all, she like that he wasn’t moving and urging to hold her also. Elle wanted nothing less than to have this be a mutual exchange of emotional vomiting. Tel wasn’t going to expect her to talk about what was upsetting her, wasn’t going to spin her around and hold her while saying, “You can talk to me.”

He knew that she already knew that. He also knew that if she didn’t want to talk, she wouldn’t. And he knew that when she gave a small bit of comfort to take it for what it was: sympathy for a friend, not an invitation to pry.

“You know,” he began, making her cringe at the possibilities after those words. “I _do_ have to get back to work. As much as I like helping feed the plants, I’ve got to get back.”

Elle felt childish. She released him and stuttered out, “Oh, right, yeah, um… this was just, uh, extra work, because… y’know.”

Tel smiled at her. “Yeah, I know. I’ll be over next door if you wanna hang out, yeah?” And he handed her the bottle, waving good-bye.

Just before he opened the door, Elle shouted, “ _Wait_!” It was far too loud and excited for the modestly-sized shop.

“What?” he laughed, looking over his shoulder at her.

“Um, if you need help,” she held herself. “I can lend a hand.”

“Yeah?” he reached over and grabbed her elbow. “You’re alright with needles, yeah?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back! I got my exams in last Thursday and have been really over-whelmed. So, to get back into the swing of updates, I decided to update this story next. My guess is Leading the Blind will get the next update (if you're reading that).
> 
> A few things:
> 
> 1\. Yes. Elle's actual name is Ellery. Blame her mother.  
> 2\. Oh, man. Elle was expelled from college? Wonder what that's about (DO I SMELL PLOT?)  
> 3\. Of course, the "old boyfriend" jacket will probably have some backstory at some point.  
> 5\. Poor Tel, am I right?  
> 6\. And don't think I don't notice the way I write Tel/Teldryn to Elle/Elya/Rook when it comes to asking for consent. Tel/Teldryn often and frequently asks consent for any sort of physical act. Elle/Elya/Rook hardly (if ever) asks for any consent. 
> 
> Lemme know what you think!


	5. Under the Skin

Your Mom Hates Us had music blaring so loudly that she could hear it before Tel even opened the door. She gave him a look and he shrugged.  
  


“Conner likes to work surrounded by sound.”  
  


“Oh yeah?” she smiled. “Couldn’t tell.”  
  


He opened the door and offered for her to go through first. “ _Yeah_ , smart ass,” he playfully jabbed. “But I’ve got work to do in the back, so you’ll be safe from that awful stuff he likes to put on.”  
  


Elle had never visited the parlor with anyone else around. She’d never been past the main counter; a tall, thin wall with an opening separated patrons at the desk from the colorful walls that lay ahead. Mirrors were everywhere. Stations were broken up by smaller partitions. The buzz of a needle hummed as they walked by Conner’s workstation. A man laid backwards in an inclined chair, his head to one side. The look of relaxation on his face seemed strange to her. Conner looked up and gave Tel a quick nod.  
  


“Hey, man!” the bald man with glasses greeted. He was covered in tattoos, images spread down from his neck and into his shirt.  “Everything end up okay?”  
  


“Yeah, all is good.” Tel grinned sheepishly at Elle. Her heart raced and she shot him a look. Had he told Conner about her storming into the shop? How could he just tell someone she didn’t know that she was upset? He diverted, “How's the ink coming?”  
  


The man in the chair looked up and gave a brief thumbs up. “Good, good.”  
  


“Very nice. I'll let you guys get back to it,” Tel offered before gently guiding Elle to the backroom. As if reading the displeasure on her face, he addressed her directly, “I just told him I was stepping out to take care of something. Didn't say anything about you.”  
  


Elle felt like she'd been slapped. She'd just jumped to conclusions about what Tel had told Conner. He didn't have to know that though. People usually made assumptions. “Oh. Okay.”  
  


          She walked into the backroom first. It was fairly spacious. A large light table occupied most of one wall, opposite of the door. In one corner was a large, office supply cabinet. Counters took up a lot of the space--the kind with doors and drawers for holding more supplies. By the door was a small, cheap table.  
  


He held onto the doorknob. “Hey, it's really noisy out there but I don't want you to feel uncomfortable,” he explained. “Is it alright if I shut the door? At any point, you can just tell me to open it back up whenever.”  
  


         Nodding, she looked around. If Tel tried something, she’d make sure that he would never come near her again without experiencing fear. Before she could threaten him with such, her eyes caught a small, white box on the counter. They went wide. “Is that… an autoclave?”  
  


         Tel shut the door and grinned widely. “Yeah! Not many people know it's name proper, usually just call it our toaster oven.” He laughed at that.  
  


         It was so amazing the way his mirth spilled over and infected her when she least expected it. She grinned widely, walking over to check out the autoclave. “Ha. That's one _expensive_ toaster oven that won't toast then.”  
  


        He propped himself with both hands on a break table. “Gorgeous _and_ clever. There's gotta be something wrong with you.”  
  


        It wasn't meant to be hurtful but after the morning with her brother, it was probably the worst thing Tel could have said. “Not a damn thing!” Elle snapped.  
  


       The hurt in his eyes was tangible. His face dropped and he stood up straight. “Pardon me?” Tel took in a slow, deep breath. “You know, most people would just tell someone that they were upset, even if the other person didn't understand.”  
  


      She crossed her arms and huffed. “Sorry, alright? Geesh. I told you, I had a bad morning.”  
  


     “Did _I_ cause it?” he asked, obviously annoyed. One of his eyebrows arched upwards but he didn't look amused.  
  


    “Ugh, _no_ .” She threw up her hands. “I get it, alright? I'm taking stuff out on you and I'm being a real cunt about it. Big _fucking_ surprise: Elle ruins everything.”  
  


      She stomped towards the door. Her hand lingered on the doorknob. Elle looked back at him. “What? You're just going to let me leave? You don't wanna yell or something first at how shitty I'm being?”  
  


       Tel shrugged and went to a cabinet, pulling out a box of latex-free gloves. Snapping them on, he explained, “I told you that whenever you wanted to leave, you could. I'm not holding you here. You and I both know you're throwing a bit of a tantrum--”  
  


      “--this _isn't_ a tantrum--”  
  


      He held up a finger and shook his head. “Tantrum,” he affirmed. “And I've got work to do. You've got the day off so go and yell at someone who'll put up with this shit. I'm not going to.”  
  


      What she _felt_ like doing was screaming at him. Telling him to fuck off and that she didn't need his self-righteous, smug attitude telling her how to be an adult. He had no idea what her life was like and he wanted to act like _she_ was being a child. In the meantime, Tel could just blow her off and not call her about disappearing for two weeks. No, she wasn't allowed to be mad at that either.  
  


        “My _shit_?” Elle fished around in her pockets angrily. One of her hands landed on a pack of gum, half empty. Good enough. She hurled it at him.  
  


        The tiny box pathetically bounced off of him. Tel stared at her, quickly glanced at the gum, and then gave her an incredulous look. His face was contorted in absolute confusion. “Did you just…” he bent down to pick up the gum. “Gum? You just threw _gum_ at me?”  
  


         “Well… I, uh,” she stammered, realizing how ridiculous her act had been.  
  


She flinched when he doubled over in laughter, the sound competing with the thumping of the music outside the door. He wiped a tear from one of his eyes and then slid a piece of gum out of the package before tossing it gently back at her. She caught it with one hand, shoved it back into her pocket.  
  


Tel waved the stick of gum at her. “That was pretty lame,” he chuckled. “Cinnamon? That's an interesting choice. I'm not much of a gum person myself--this any good?”  
  


The gum was Del’s idea back when Elle was going through the first round of the program. Before she fucked up and had to scrape herself back together and back in the program. “It tastes like spicy cinnamon, not much to know I guess.”  
  


He undid the wrapper and popped it into his mouth. After a few chews, he spit it out into his gloved hand. “Ugh, gross!” Then he walked over to her and offered it. “Here, take it back! Take it back!” he laughed while grabbing her hand playfully.  
  


All of a sudden, it was as if they hadn’t been biting at one another a second ago. _How_ did he _do_ that? She giggled stupidly while gently tugging her hand away from him. “No! It's got your spit on it!”  
  


Elle had the thought that maybe the heat kicked on silently, her face hot and her heart beating fast.  
  


“What's wrong with my spit?” he shrieked playfully. “Can't be any worse than this gum!”  
  


“You’ve got _gloves_ on!” she laughed, pretending to back away toward a cabinet. But he played along, backing her into it but also keeping enough space as to show her that she could stop the game at any time. Elle felt… safe. Was that what she felt? She’d never felt _unsafe_ around him--sometimes irritated or annoyed--but never fearful. If anything, he was annoying her now because he was being _too_ considerate.  
  


But safe or not, something about the lack of space between them made Elle uneasy. Like when she and her ex--Bren--had been together. So close but so many problems.  
  


        Their bodies were _so_ close now. She didn't realize how _great_ he smelled--the scent of the sea again. Grit and brine and clean. But not the water. No, more like the shore where sand gave way to the tides. The smell of wet earth… of new ash after a fire. Dirt that had been tried and tested and measured resilient against the elements.  
  


Shit shit _shit_ it reminded her so much of sex.  
  


Elle bit her bottom lip. She wasn’t doing much of anything now, the fight out of their silly game. Tel’s eyes met hers and he went silent mid-laugh. The hand that wasn’t threatening to give her gum back dropped down, gently brushing against her arm. Stupid vinyl gloves. Without thinking, her hands clamored around his other wrist and pulled the edge of the glove over the gum and his fingers. A smart snap followed her ripping the glove from his fingertips--she threw it down.  
  


Tel cocked a grin and arched an eyebrow. “I...uh, should _really_ get to cleaning, yeah?” He nodded toward the closed door and the sound of Conner chatting over the music. “As much as having an audience turns me on and all,” he teased.  
  


Elle frowned. “You’re horrible.”  
  


“Am I?” His smile failed at innocence.  
  


“Oh, come _on_ ,” she groaned. “Stop fucking around.”  
  


Tel’s mouth cocked to one side and he gave her a wicked, mischievous wink--slow and deliberate. “ _Çiçeğim_ , all you have to do is tell me what you _want_. I’m no good with hints.”  
  


For the briefest of moments, Elle thought he really was clueless but she quickly realized what he was getting it. Telem Sadat wanted her to _beg_ him to… well, for whatever they were starting physically. Unless she said, “Please,” he wasn’t going to initiate anything. Probably because he got off on that sort of thing.  
  


Elle stepped away from him, huffing in disgust as she yanked a chair from the break table and flopped into it. “Fine. I want you to clean and I’ll sit here and watch.” She watched him bend down to pick up the discarded glove and toss it into a nearby trash can. “Loser,” she grumbled and crossed her arms. She guessed that it _was_ still early.  
  


Tel chuckled before replacing a glove on his other hand. “Suit yourself. I’ll just be getting tools into the autoclave to get clean.”  
  


“Whatever.” Elle lifted her crossed arms onto the table and laid her head down. She yawned. Sure, she remembered offering to help but now she felt completely spent and just wished she’d gone home, slept in. Her apartment was a few blocks away but that seemed like too much work. The music, the gentle hum of the autoclave, and Tel’s whistling lulled her to sleep.

* * *

“Elle?” Someone was gently shaking her arm. “Hey, _çiçeğim_?”  
  


She didn’t stir at first, preferring to ignore whoever was bothering her nap.  
  


Whoever they were bent down, moved some of her hair from her face, and whispered close to her ear, “ _Senden çok hoşlanıyorum_.”  
  


Tel. That’s who it was. His Turkish always piqued her attention. She swiped at him before blinking her eyes. “Hmm?” Oh. Shit. She’d fallen asleep at the tattoo parlor. Elle nearly jumped up. “Fuck, what time is it?”  
  


“Easy,” he placed a hand on her arm to steady her as she tripped over the chair. “It’s only noon.”  
  


Her eyes went wide. “ _Noon_?” she practically yelled. “Why’d you let me sleep that long?”  
  


“You seemed tired!” he threw his hands up. “I was busy and you weren’t in the way. Thought you could use the rest. You had a rough morning so I didn’t want to bother you.”  
  


She softened. “Oh.” Why was she _always_ lashing out at this guy? “Uh, thanks.” Rubbing the back of her neck, she noticed that he had, indeed, cleaned while she slept. The back room seemed neater than before. It was quieter than before also. No music. “I guess Conner’s finished? No sound to fill the silence?”  
  


Tel shrugged. “Yeah, he finished up not too long ago and told me he was heading out. Figured you wouldn’t want to be alone with me here so I woke you up.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, not that I think I’m a dangerous person or anything, just that your feelings about that are more important than my intentions.”  
  


“Thanks,” Elle mumbled. “I mean, it wasn’t a big deal. Mostly embarrassed about falling asleep here.”  
  


He smiled and waved her concerns away. “Nah, don’t be.” He winked again, more playfully this time. “Besides, I thought you looked pretty cute.” Before she could glare at him, Tel warned her, “And don’t give me that look. You’re making it _really_ hard to flirt with you.” But then, as if panicking, he quickly added, “Unless I’ve been reading this _all_ wrong and you don’t want me to at all.”  
  


Yeah, this time Elle _definitely_ felt heat flush from her neck to her forehead with that comment. “No!” she blurted out. Tel’s eyes went wide and he blinked, confused. “I mean, I don’t mind,” the words tripped over themselves rushing out of her mouth. “The flirting. It’s fine.” No way _that_ didn’t sound stupid. She almost wished she could slink out of this place and hide under the covers of her bed for a year or so.  
  


Tel laughed loudly and, before she could brace herself, grabbed her hand. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. It was her, not the room; she’d spontaneously combust and all that would be left were mortified ashes--her embarrassment would live on long after she died. Probably forever. Then he tucked his fingers in between hers.  
  


Nope. Nope, nope, _nope_. She could imagine it already:  
  


“Ellery and I had a...difficult relationship,” her brother would begin her eulogy. “The last time I saw her was over breakfast.” At this point he’d choke a bit, holding back tears. Probably guilty over not treating her to Dimples instead. It’d serve him right.  
  


“Elle?” Tel’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “This okay?” He held up their hands, fingers still knit tightly together.  
  


With her other hand, she tucked a stray strand of hair behind an ear. “Yeah, sure.” Tel’s smile softened a bit. She hadn’t paid close attention to his eyes before. Before, they’d just seemed brown but now that they were close and his gaze wasn’t moving from hers, Elle could tell they were more of an amber.  
  


“Just wanted to check,” he explained. “I know the first time we met, I said some things that...uh… made you uncomfortable, yeah?”  
  


It took her a moment to remember what he was talking about. “Oh. Right.” Their hands were still together, neither made a move to pull apart. “I mean, it was just because it was, y’know, we were strangers and you greeted me by leering at my clavicles.”  
  


He raised a brow. “Soooo…” His other hand moves upward and traces the outline of her collarbone against her shirt. “Are you telling me that if I complimented you now, you’d be alright with it? Or are we still strangers?”  
  


Elle stepped back away but kept her hand in his. Too much. They weren’t _strangers_ but she couldn’t handle an intense relationship again. Not after Brendan. That was too much also and she had been consumed by it. Tel was intense in his own way. Not like Bren but not unlike the way she felt swept underneath it so easily.  
  


“No,” Elle answered. His smile dropped. “I mean… It's just, well, last relationship I was in went sort of… south.” Her eyes darted toward the floor. “Like, deep south.”  
  


“Relationship?” Tel balked at the idea. “You've got me all wrong, _çiçeğim_. Thought we could have fun, enjoy ourselves.”  
  


She squinted at him, her mouth flat. Was he just saying that because he’d seen her panic? For that matter, was Elle _that_ obvious when she panicked? “Nothing serious? Like, just… uh, friends?”  
  


Well, a friends that relentlessly teased and flirted with one another. Sure. She was going to ignore that.  
  


Surprisingly, it was Tel who let go. He reached out and gently tapped her nose. “Zero seriousness. Except for being _seriously_ hungry right now. You up for lunch?”  
  


Her shoulders felt lighter, the weight of whatever was going on between them now off of her. He was hot, funny, considerate… and hot. But she didn't need a relationship like that right now. Maybe not ever again. Elle was just fine with the way things were going, thanks for asking.  
  


“This is actually my day off.” Elle glanced down, a bit guilty about blowing him off. “I really didn't mean to waste half my day moping.”  
  


She watched him considered asking her about the moping but instead shrugged it off. “Okay, how about making good on that date I promised? Tomorrow night?”  
  


“No!” Elle blurted out. Tel flinched back and his eyes went wide. “I...uh…no. Tomorrow night is bad for me. Every Monday night is bad for me actually. Tuesday?”  
  


“Sure,” he agreed. He still looked a bit startled from her outburst. “Let's finally exchange numbers, yeah? I can text you tomorrow and we can pick a good time. Don't worry--I've got it aaaaall figured out.”  
  


Tel winked and she rolled her eyes.  
  


But her stomach turned at the idea that Elle would have to share this development in her life tomorrow night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is a weak pun/word play about getting tattoos, this scene taking place in a tattoo shop, and Elle's increasing awareness about Tel "getting under her skin." Yeah, I know. Pun game is weak. 
> 
> So, this is an update! For those of you reading the non-AU versions of HEP, Leading the Blind will update soon, like this week. I'm very sorry for the delay. In October of last year, I was in a serious car accident and have been recovering from lots of problems. Thus, the lack of updates and complete silence for a minute. TDN was easier to update first because I don't worry about seriously combing through these chapters. With the holidays added on top of the madness, you can imagine that everything has been overwhelming for me.
> 
> Thanks to all of you for your patience! I know it's frustrating when an author sort of drops off and the updates stop coming. Thank you all for being gentle with me and for continuing to read my stuff! 
> 
> Happy new year to all of you! Thanks again for reading! --Ash


	6. Too Hot to Choc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes going up top to warn you guys that this chapter gets rough--suicide and alcoholism. The latter will be mentioned regularly from here on out.
> 
> Jemma, Frankie, Tamika, Liv, Evie, Cassie, and Wendy belong to saberwitch.tumblr.com!

Listening to the speaker drone on and on and on reminded Elle of college courses she hated: history, economics, and public speaking. Worse yet, tonight was an open meeting. This meant more people than the usual ten or so that came regularly. She tapped against the side of her styrofoam cup, her chin crammed into her other palm. The urge to roll her eyes would have taken over had it not been for the woman beside her. Without glancing over, Elle knew Adella Breton would be the picture of formidable elegance, even in the dim light of the concrete church basement. Best not to give Del any reason to yell at her after the meeting.  
  
Sponsors weren’t hard to come by, but Elle was picky.

“I’ve been sober for twenty years,” the man speaking at the front of the group announced, flashing a chip before jamming it back into his pocket. “And, lemme tell you, it’s still hard. Even now, I’m up here and talking to you guys like I’m _not_ thinking about how great it’d be to sit back with a glass of wine, act like we’re just at a swanky function where we’re discussing post-structuralist poetry.” The guy offered a sad smile. “I...uh, used to be in the academic circuit, did poetry analysis via Derrida and…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “Past is the past, y’know? Dwelling on it is like tonguing an ulcer in your mouth--won’t do anything but cause you more pain.” 

Elle caught herself thinking, _I need a drink_ . Shit. She took in a deep breath. She checked in with herself, like Del had advised her to do. The guy was annoying her because she hated the chips. She hated socially acceptable alcoholism in the academy. Also, she hated the way this guy acted like he was a friend to everyone here. 

“Hey there! We’re both alcoholics so let’s be friends and lemme dump all my emotional baggage on you.” _That_ was how it happened. It _always_ happened like that. Elle bristled when “one day at a time” replaced “see ya later!” And then the chips. 

Elle had the whole _fucking_ rainbow sitting in a dish at her apartment. A lot of white chips. But carrying them around with her was an invitation to show them off. Personal mementos of a common problem that bound her to every person here. 

It was _so_ stupid. 

Something tapped her leg. It jolted her up a bit. A quick look at Del’s face confirmed that she’d lightly kicked Elle. A reminder that she wasn’t being as “polite” as she probably should be to the guest speaker. He’d come into town to speak to a campus group and asked to stop by as he was away from his home group. This happened sometimes. It tested Elle’s patience. _Hard_.

The guest speaker let out some nervous laughter at some joke he'd made that Elle had missed. “But in all seriousness, thank you so much for having me here. Being away from my support network still scares me but all of you have been so welcoming--” he glanced down before finishing his story. “Thank you so much for having me here.”

Elle clapped her hands when everyone else did. Tonight’s discussion moderator thanked the speaker, went over the usual laundry list of things (they passed a box for donations, someone offered to read “Promises,” and on and on and on), and then asked them all to stand. Elle hated this also. Her left hand grabbed Del’s but her right reached for the woman beside her--a lady named Bethany with three kids and used to have a job as a lawyer. Instead of the religiously-charged Lord’s Prayer, their group opted to recite the Serenity Prayer to send everyone off.

“Keep coming back,” Elle recited in unison with everyone else. “It works if you work it.”

She looked back at Del as the group dispersed, chatter flitting about it. “I can’t handle this today. Sacred Grounds?”

Del’s shoulders lost the emotional weight she’d been carrying. Maybe she had thought about saying no. Or maybe she needed out of here just as much as Elle. “Yeah, good idea.”

Sacred Grounds was three blocks away from the church. Walking the first block, both were silent. Elle took out two pieces of gum and handed one to Del. Sometime during the second block, both of them spit their used gum out. Elle couldn’t tell whose lost flavor first. It wasn’t like Del to not spend the walk chastising her about her behavior. Or at least part of it. But Elle wasn’t about to ask. She let their footsteps fill the silence.

Sacred Grounds lay ahead of them now. The refurbished Victorian boasted a spacious front and back porch as well as a lush network of trellises framing off the areas for privacy. From what Elle understood, Liv was the one with the green thumb. They entered from the front, passing by occupied tables. Each table held small, white candles and tiny floral arrangements with assorted flowers. Couples and small groups huddled over the intimate settings. No one was without a cup and a plate of some baked good in front of them.

A generous awning hung over the front area of the house. Over the front, aged-oak door hung two bundles--one sage and one rosemary. Elle moved to open the door but Del grabbed her elbow. “Remember? Part of the reason they let us have that corner section upstairs.”

Elle sighed. She wasn’t religious but knew Del was right. “I think I’ve got something in here.” Her hands dug around in both of her jacket pockets: pack of gum, old receipt, keys… “Ah, there we go.” She was able to dig out a penny. Beside the door was a meticulously crafted alter. Covered in some sort of sumptuous and rich-looking fabric, the altar held two candles--one white and one yellow--two tiny statues, a cup, a tiny bowl which held various small offerings, a bowl with water, a bowl with salt, and incense. Painted onto the fabric was a pentagram. Elle dropped the penny into the offering bowl.  
  
“You think the god or goddess cares if we do this shit?” Elle grumbled.

Del dropped a dime into the bowl. “If they heard you say such a thing, they’d probably kick us out, girl.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Elle opened the door. An antique bell chimed as they entered into the cozy establishment. “Think they’d kick us out if I asked for a beer?”

The older woman glared at her. “Not. Funny.”

For a brief instant, Elle remembered what shame was. “Sorry,” she mumbled. It was easier to joke about alcohol back when she was alcoholic. _You’re_ still _an alcoholic_ , she reminded herself. Diseased and broken and--

“Hey, guys!” Frankie’s voice broke through her thoughts. She waved, a bright smile spread across her purple-stained lips. Today’s outfit was a black tank top that showed off her collection of tattoos and a pair of purple shorts over neon green fishnets. Knee-high socks and high tops completed the look. She winked at both of them and pointed upstairs with her free hand. “Upstairs is completely empty at the moment. I’ll be right up!”  
  
“Thanks, dear,” Del gave her a quick smile before nudging Elle. “You heard the nice lady.”

Elle dutifully followed her through the crowd of empty tables--it was too nice outside to be stuck inside--and mumbled. “Frankie is nice the way I’m unpleasant.”

“What?” Del stopped midway up the stairs to stare at her. “But you _are_ unpleasant. Extremely so.”

“That’s my _point_ ,” she huffed. “Frankie’s always, I dunno…” she searched for the word. “ _Too_ nice. Like, in-your-face-and-bright nice.”

“The hell does it mean to be ‘bright nice?’”

“If I _had_ a better way to put it, I _would_ have.”

“Geesh,” Del groaned. “Can we take a break from your attitude for _one_ night? That’s all I ask. _One_.”

Elle rolled her eyes. They’d reached the top of the stairs and made their way to their favorite corner booth: a large circle big enough for six people. They slid in, each woman across from the other. Both she and Del agreed that being able to look at the person they were talking to was the best way to have coffee. As she promised, Frankie bounded up the stairs and leaned over their table with a neon green notepad.

“Alright, ladies,” she practically sang. “Same as usual or you guys switchin’ it up?” The pen she tapped against the notepad was wrapped in purple sequins and topped with a little green head that bounced on top of a spring. Elle figured it was supposed to be a zombie with one cartoon eyeball hanging out of its socket and its mouth slack.

“Darkest roast you’ve got tonight, black.” Del reached into her purse before adding, “Jemma bake cupcakes today?”

Frankie grinned. “You bet. Wendy’s already eaten three, keeps complaining that if her aunt makes her do her homework here she’s going to enjoy herself.”

“Tamika threaten to take it out of Cass’s check?” Del poked fun.

The waitress laughed, her hair coming loose out of the bun she’d piled on top of her head. This month it was dyed something called an “oil slick” with mostly dark green shining off the light. Elle really didn’t see the appeal of wasting money on hair dye if it just meant having to keep it up.

“And you, grumpy?” Frankie poked Elle with the end of her pen, the little zombie head gently smacking her shoulder. Elle swatted it away. “You’re no fun, yanno?”

Elle rolled her eyes. “A cupcake and… that mocha thing you guys have, the one with the mountain of whipped cream on top.”

Frankie bounced one of her legs up and down, biting her bottom lip as her mouth strained in a grin. “Ya gotta say the _name_ , Elle Bell.”

She glared at her then muttered, “The ‘Too Hot to Choc.’”

Frankie drummed against the table in triumph and practically skipped as she called out, “Hey, Jem! Elle’s too hot to choc tonight!”

How was it that someone as pushy and loud could be in a relationship with _four_ women and Elle couldn’t even get over herself to act normal around one guy? Jemma, Tamika, Frankie, Liv, and Evie were a perfect family that seemed to have it all together. It was enough to make Elle sick. They were pieces of a picture that came easily together both romantically and professionally. Tamika ran the books and marketing for Sacred Grounds; Liv did upkeep on the gardening; Frankie had enough energy to waitress for five people and enough muscle to carry everything to boot. Evie--the resident tinker--could fix anything by practically looking at it. And, of course, Jemma was the heart and soul of the place (and of their marriage from what Elle understood).

Elle hated all of them. Mostly because they were content and had one another.

She’d never be so lucky. The only people she was fit to be around were alcoholics, her stupid brother, and customers who yelled about how their flower orders weren’t what they wanted (“I expected it to be… bigger! More flowers and less green!”). Okay, that and she just couldn’t see anyone fitting perfectly with her skills with botany and flora. Unless the guy was a landscaper. Or a funeral director. Probably the latter.

“What are you moping about over there?” Del’s voice broke her thoughts.

She shrugged. “Nothing,” she lied.

“So, the usual?”

Elle shrugged again.

Del sighed. Before she could get onto her, Frankie came back and with a tray which she left with them (“Enjoy you two!”). She took a tiny sip of her coffee before continuing, “If that speaker was rough for you, think how it was for _me_. Don’t act like I won’t understand. You mentioned beer once--”

Elle groaned. “Holy shit, Del, it was just a joke--”

“--what? You gonna tell me you _weren’t_ thinking about having a drink at the meeting?”

Elle didn’t answer. Instead, she picked up the cupcake--a white cake variety with a pink, strawberry frosting on top with tiny hearts on top--and took a too-big hunk out of it, her cheeks bulging out.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Del sipped on her coffee while picking small bites off her own dessert, any crumb that fell was deftly placed on an open napkin. “Guy reminded me too much of Bernard. Kept thinking, ‘This guy and Bernard would have hit it off. He loved poetry and epics in history, would have wanted to talk this guy’s ear off.”

Bernard Pendragon: Adella’s dead husband. Probably an alcoholic but he’d killed himself before that was a label he could officially embrace. Depression and alcoholism went hand-in-hand when it came to Del and Bernard. Both had been career academics in the literature and history department of the city’s largest university (Elle had attended the second); they’d met in grad school, both doing work on dragons in history. Del focused on Persian myths while Bernard focused on Vietnamese ones.

Del would freely admit that part of their job was drinking--going out to readings, conferences, dinner with friends. As long as it was expensive and bourgeois, then they were connoisseurs. It wasn’t like they skipped work or had flasks hidden in their offices. But, they both hit a string of rejections in the span of a month. They’d drank to “celebrate their failures,” as Del called it (“Irony. We thought we were clever.). But then they’d started drinking a bit too heavily when they went to lunch. On top of everything, the casual sexism in the department was finally getting to her.

One day, Bernard showed up a little too buzzed to a class he was teaching. He was asked to take a paid medical leave. He took it a little too hard.

After his death, Del quit. She got into AA. Elle chose her as a sponsor because Del took no shit. The first sponsor she had was religious and Elle had given up ever getting sober.

“But I’ve got my own shit to deal with later with my therapist,” she moved on. “I saw you. Any triggers lately?”

 _Yeah_ , Elle wanted to admit. _My brother acted like he wanted to spend time with me but ended up doing the “Hey, go finish college” thing he’s always going on about. There’s also a guy I’d_ really _like to fuck but the last thing I want right now is anything that resembles a relationship and I’ll be damned if we do some fucking “Oh, we can just be friends with benefits and no emotional attachment whatsoever” schtick. Because when does_ that _ever work? Never. But we also kinda work next to one another._

“I guess.” Elle picked up her own coffee (only in name but in actuality a hot, caffeinated sugar chocolate milk) and took a careful sip around the whipped cream. When she put it down, she spent time scooping bits of cream onto her finger while licking it off. “Just shitty life crap.”

Del leaned forward and pinched the bridge of her nose, her mouth tight. “Alright, I’m going to remind you _once_ that I’m your sponsor and that supporting you when the thoughts get bad is _literally_ why you asked _me_ to be your sponsor. But I’m not your fucking shrink. So either spill it or leave. You’re ruining this cupcake for me.”

Elle shrank in her seat. “A couple of things, I guess,” she mumbled. “My brother did that thing again--asked me to reconsider finishing college.”

“And?”

She knew what Del was looking for: she wanted to know how Elle acted and what she thought about. “I dunno. It sucked. I was hurt. He calls me up and offers to take me to breakfast and the first words out of his fucking mouth are ‘hey, maybe you should think about it again’ like I’m not thinking about it all the _fucking_ time.” She took her cupcake and scraped it over the whipped cream. Before she knew it, Elle kept babbling, “And then there’s Tel--this guy who works at the tattoo shop next to mine--and I _like_ him but I also don’t want have to deal with stupid shit.”

She finally took in a deep breath while Del raised her eyebrows, smirking. “Oh, so the usual plus.”

“The hell do you mean by _that_?”

“Your brother is ‘the usual.’ This other guy--Tel?--is the ‘plus.’” Pushing aside the plate that once held her cupcake, Adella worked on finishing her coffee. “What ‘stupid shit’ do you have to deal with because you like him?”

Elle popped the last bit of cupcake into her mouth and answered, still chewing, “We’re going on a date. He’s already got plans. Supposedly. Can’t _exactly_ tell him no alcohol. Then he’d wonder why. And the last time I tried dating, it didn’t end up well.”

That was an understatement. She ended up with Brendan, stupidly in love and thinking she had her life in order helping out some petty thieves while falling off the wagon. Hard.

Del gave her a rare, sympathetic look. For a moment, she took her unused spoon and absent-mindedly stirred her coffee, no purpose other than to help her think. Elle knew that this was a side that she didn’t let others see often. “Dating isn’t the problem, you know? You’re just afraid of letting people get close, of getting close to others.”

Elle literally bit her tongue to hold back, _No shit_.

“If you like him, then he must not be too horrible. I know you hate dealing with most people.” Del stopped stirring her coffee. “You aren’t obligated to tell anyone you’re an alcoholic. If you don’t wanna tell him no alcohol, it’s gonna be that much worse if you go out and he orders wine or something trying to impress you. You telling me you _won’t_ say to yourself, ‘Just a glass for appearances.’? Because we both know that never works.”

Suddenly, the coffee seemed like too much to deal with. Elle reached across the table and snatched the tiny container filled with sugar packets. She set about organizing them. “I can’t,” she agreed, not meeting Del’s gaze.

“If he asks why, you can always say that no is no. Not sure why you’ve got to make a big thing about it.”

“Because putting it like that makes me look like a neurotic mess.” She shoved the blue packets to one side, the pink ones to the other, and the white ones above. “And don’t say a damn thing about what I doing.” She glanced up at her.

“Hey.” Del shrugged. “Not my place to tell you what to do. All I’m saying is, I know what it’s like. The last two years, you’ve been doing really good. After all the ups and downs, you telling me that you’d want to take a chance throwing all that hard work away because of wondering what some _guy_ thinks?”

Elle turned all of the labels in the blue pile facing the same way. There was a reason she’d practically begged Adella Breton to be her sponsor. She had a point.


	7. Untitled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! You'll notice this chapter is short and seems to end in the middle. That's because it is and does! This AU was fun to work on when I felt like I needed something low pressure to write but I'm shifting my project priorities. Leading the Blind has become my primary focus when it comes to fanfic (Relentless is there but I'm not feeling as inspired with that lately). 
> 
> In other news: I've finished the first draft of my original first original novel. I'd rather spend time editing that as it is a fantasy adventure story that needs a lot of work. This means I need more time and the only way I can have that is to let some things go. I feel like this was a good place to end Thistle Do Nicely. There was a problem (Elle being reluctant to start a relationship due to being a recovering alcoholic), the main plot (Elle and Telem starting a relationship), a resolution plot/main problem (when Elle talks with her sponsor), and when Elle acts on changing her behaviors and there is the possibility of moving forward (this chapter). 
> 
> I had lots of things I wanted to do that didn't happen and details I wanted to pepper in. But, as it stands, I think this is okay to end here. So, thank you for reading this small, fun thing while it lasted. I'm always willing to do more chapters as commissions if you really miss it but I won't be adding more to it on my own time. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3 Ash

Elle paced back and forth in her bedroom, Tel’s number up on her phone and thumb ready to hit the dial button. Twenty-three minutes past 2AM wasn’t  _ exactly  _ prime for social calls but this was bothering her. She pressed dial.

It took three rings before he picked up and another five seconds before he was able to get out anything coherent. She waited as he groaned, muttered a curse.

“‘Lo?”

“It’s Elle.” She walked over to her dresser and began examining dusty knick-knacks. She opened her mouth but nothing came out. She swallowed and tried saying something again. “From the flower shop,” was what she ended up with. She bent down to gently bang her head against the dresser table.  _ Idiot, idiot, idiot _ . 

But, two in the morning didn’t stop Telem from being amused by it. He laughed loudly, then made a noise that sounded like he was stretching. “Flower shop, huh? You’re going to have to be more specific.” He yawned. “Know lots of Elles from  _ lots  _ of flower shops.”

“Prick,” she muttered.

“That a request?”

Her face went hot. “You wish.” She turned over a tiny, plastic toy dragon Del had given her a year ago. It was black and had red eyes.  _ Saw it at a garage sale _ , she’d said.  _ Reminded me of you _ . “It’s about tomorrow.”

She could hear him breathing, slow and deep. “Wanna cancel the date, yeah?”

“No,” she quickly corrected. Putting the dragon down, Elle picked up an old necklace, something that she never wore. Just a plain silver chain with a cheap silver ring at the end. In the middle of the ring was a bright purple stone. Probably just zirconia. “Just wanted to tell you…” she moved the phone to between her shoulder and ear while looping the chain around her fingers to play cat’s cradle. “Wanted to tell you no alcohol. On the date.”

“Huh?” He yawned again. “Like, no bars? Wasn’t planning on anything like that.”

Elle pulled and twisted another loop. “No, I mean like wherever we go, they don’t serve it”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything but she could hear him breathing. She slid out one of her fingers, pulled the loose loop onto her thumb. Maybe he’d fallen back asleep?

“Alright,” Tel finally spoke. “Today is tomorrow, so how about Over the Spoon?”

“What?” She dropped her arms a bit and a loop came loose. The whole thing slumped in on itself. Elle sighed then slid the whole thing back onto her dresser top. “That twenty-four hour diner a few blocks away from the shop? You wanna go there for dinner tomorrow?”

There was some shuffling in the background. The groan of mattress springs. “No, I mean like right now. You’re up. I’m up. It’s technically Tuesday. Let’s go.” She opened her mouth but he kept talking. “No alcohol at a diner,  _ çiçeğim _ .”

Elle scrambled for the phone, holding it against her ear now. She paced back and forth. “ _ Now _ ? I woke you up. For something stupid.” She bit her bottom lip.

“I don’t think it sounds stupid.” He yawned again. “Sounds like it was important to you.”

She mumbled something but sat on her bed, pulling one of her boots back on. “Okay, fine. Let’s have a date in the middle of the night.”

“Early morning,” he corrected. “Or near the witching hour, if you’re feeling demonic.”

Elle reached in to pull a lace from inside her boot where her foot had shoved it in. “That was a couple of hours ago.”

“You were feeling demonic a couple of hours ago?” She heard him laugh. “I’d  _ love  _ to see what that entails.”

She ignored him as she corrected, “The witching hour. Y’know. Midnight.”

“Nooooope. Wrong.” There was some noise that sounded like shifting on the other line. “Witching hour is at three in the morning.”

“That’s stupid. Midnight is in the middle, makes more sense.” She got up to check her hair. Elle frowned and gathered it up, one hand holding the hair up while another fumbled for anything to stab through it. The phone, still crunched between her shoulder and ear, slipped a bit. Elle let her hair go to catch it. “Lemme put you on speaker.”

“If you start yelling while you’re in another room, I’m hanging up,” he threatened but then snorted. “Okay, okay. I won’t hang up but I’ll just start yelling at you. Right into the receiver.”

Elle fussed with her hair, content when only a few pieces fell out. “You do that and I’m going to yell in your ear when we have sex.”

She winced. She hadn’t  _ exactly  _ meant to say that seriously. It was  _ supposed  _ to be a joke, just her trying to jab at him the way he did with her. But it came out in such a way that there’s no way he was going to way to take it that way.  _ Hey, idiot. Maybe something like, “I’ll yell at you the entire time on our date.” Or, geesh, something that didn’t mention sex at all. Literally  _ anything.

The other end went quiet and she closed her eyes shut while biting her bottom lip. Damn it. But then Tel quipped, “Joke’s on you: I  _ love  _ when someone yells in my ear during sex. It’s practically a fetish.” Elle relaxed and grinned. “I mean, if someone  _ doesn’t  _ do that, it’s a real deal-breaker for the relationship. Really glad I could be honest about that.”

“Shut up,” she laughed.

“No, really!” There was some noise on his end, like something being shut. “It was going to be this…” She heard snapping in the background--probably his fingers. “Ugh, it’s too early, lost the word.  _ Lanet olsun.  _ Like a dark sky, yeah?”

Elle shrugged her jacket on before closing the door to lock it. “I, uh, don’t. What are you even trying to say?”

She heard snapping again. “You  _ know,  _ it’s, like…” he groaned. “I give up.”

It hit her. “Dark cloud looming over you?”

“Yes!” he laughed. “I hate when I lose stupid things like that.”

“Words aren’t stupid. I hate when I lose them too.” Elle sounded surprisingly sympathetic to her own ears. “That tip-of-the-tongue feeling is the worst.”

“Definitely.”

They didn’t speak for a few seconds before Tel wrapped back around to Elle’s initial comment. “But seriously, don’t yell in my ear. I like listening to music.”


End file.
